


Wouldst Thou Like to Live Deliciously?

by caramel_sins



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 1690s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Blood, Blood Play, Cunnilingus, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dream Sex, Dubious Consent, F/M, Face-Sitting, Rape/Non-con Elements, Salem, Spooky boning, The Devil shows up, Unreliable Narrator, Witches, Ye Olde Speak, he’s kind of cool, inspired by the vvitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27276043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramel_sins/pseuds/caramel_sins
Summary: Hux had traveled across the ocean to escape the shame and wickedness of his past. Rocky seas had carried him to salvation, to the city on a hill. Or so he thought. But the Devil was clever and he plagued Hux still in this new world. Here in the cradle of New England he found the Devil’s greatest tool: Rose Tico.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 21
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

The wood spoke. Wind made the trees whisper and the darkness of it called out to all that passed. In the faint light of the evening creatures cried out, voices desperate as some unknown beast dragged them into the hereafter. The wood was something more than a collection of leaves and roots. It was some gaping maw aching to swallow a man whole. Evergreen trees jutted up like teeth and consuming blackness filled in the gaps between. It was sharp and frightening, predatory in its oppressive expanse. 

Yet at times it’s call was coaxing. The sway of the boughs and branches was seductive, like dancing, like a heron dipping its long neck to drink from the cool waters of a lake. The wood was beautiful, its scent like juniper and dark fertile earth. In the summer it’s greenery shined like emeralds, precious like a jewel glinting in the glory of an uncovered sun. In the turning of the seasons it’s deciduous leaves turned red and golden like licking flames threatening to alight, inviting in its warmth. 

Now, in the beginnings of autumn, the branches housed leaves the color of blood, some tipped in gold. The fall made the wood more welcoming, the darkness broken up by the dying trees, preparing for winter. Now, more than ever, the wood was not just fear, it was desire too. It was the glorious unknown, God’s gift and the Devil’s temptation. 

Armitage Hux’s home sat just upon the edge of the forest. It straddled the world of the known and unknown, just out of reach of the wood’s shadow but still affected by its pull. Every morning as the sun crested the jagged tops of the trees, Hux would look on, watching as the darkness was pushed away by the encroaching light. He watched as the sharp teeth of the evergreens reached toward a wide and cloudy heaven. Here the eye of God was hidden behind grey and bleak skies as if heaven could not look upon the wickedness that hid in the shadows of the evergreens. 

Hux knew much about evil. This land, so far away from England’s shores, was full of the Devil and his servants. In every corner godless men and creatures lurked. If it was not the savages that roamed through large swaths of this new world it was Quakers and papists. If it was not the bears that stalked the woods it was horned behemoths and wolves that licked their chops, tempted to consume all who wandered too far from the safety of the closely nestled homes. In Salem Towne lurked wicked men who sought to curb and shape the will of the Almighty to suit their own sinful desires. And among all manner of evildoers lived the Devil’s many mistresses, bewitching men and turning them to their bidding. 

Hux knew such creatures with alarming intimacy. Each day he suffered a witch in his very own home, a temptress in the flesh. She was a clever hag, hidden in the body of a beautiful and kindly woman so as to divert suspicion and to lure men to crash against the rocks of damnation at her feet. But Hux knew better than most what shape a witch could take and how easily one could fall into the snare laid for them. 

He was the son of such a foul entity, the spawn of a sorceress. He had bared witness to her misdeeds, saw her concoct potions and spells in the very home he lived in. He saw her make poultices and welcome life into her arms, only to snuff it out weeks later through some enchantment or another. He had told a court what he saw, a child in a house of inequity. He had watched her hang, body quaking as the life drained from her, soul descending to Hell where her master waited. God forgive her.

Hux had traveled across the ocean to escape his maternal connection to evil. Rocky seas carried him to salvation, to the city on a hill. Or so he thought. But the Devil was clever and he plagued Hux still in this new world. Here in the cradle of New England he found the Devil’s greatest tool: Goody Tico.

Hux was loathed to admit she tempted him from the start, her beauty the lure and his own loneliness the hook that caught him. In so many ways she was the picture of a godly woman: kind, patient, well versed in the word of God. Her only fault was she was from Quaker stock, blasphemous worshippers of a false God. She had changed course, following the true word and marrying a Puritan man so she too could find salvation. What was more glorious than a soul finding the Truth spoken in the meeting house? She was praised all over town for turning toward God. Hux only wished it was not for her husband but for him. 

It was a blessing and a curse that Goody Tico’s husband fell ill so soon after their wedding. They were married not but a year before he was consecrated to the earth. Widowed and alone Goody Tico needed work and Hux, in his wisdom, employed her. He, unmarried and without a mother or sisters to keep him, needed someone to do the chores he could not. And so everyday save for the Sabbath, Goody Tico would trek from her home in the village to his home nestled dangerously close to the wood. Everyday she passed by the darkness that called and everyday she pulled him closer and closer into temptation. 

At first he suspected nothing of her. She did her work proficiently and silently, moving about like the geers of a clock, setting his little world right with her clever hands. She darned his worn clothes, dusted his furniture, cooked his meals all with the gentle air and grace that a good wife should possess. And every evening she would leave him as the sun sunk into the sky, shrouding the world in darkness and leaving Hux utterly and completely alone. 

It was as it should be. Hux would not be tempted by a woman. He was meant for solitude. It gave him room to think, to unravel the mysteries of heaven and earth. He did not need the companionship of a spouse, the noise of children. All was as exactly as it should be. Or so he reasoned when his treacherous heart called for companionship. 

Hux’s home and psyche were all well balanced for the first two seasons of Goody Tico’s work and Hux found himself eager for her quiet presence each morning. He was desirous to hear the noise of her bustling about, to see her bent over her work, brown eyes cast down in humility. She spoke little though when she did her voice was sweet. She greeted him cheerily in the morning and bid him good evening at night. When he asked her questions she usually replied with a “yes, sir” or “no, sir” as a good woman should. In every way she was perfect yet the darkness that surrounded them had blighted out her goodness slowly but surely.

****

It began with dreams, hazy and strange like swirling smoke over a cracking flame or a snuffed candle. They appeared to him in fragments, broken memories and feelings that left him aching and fearful. He could recall none of them upon waking, they were too nebulous to grasp when he was conscious. Though he could not remember the content of his nightmares, he knew with an alarming certainty that Goody Tico haunted each and every one. 

It concerned him little. Goody Tico was his constant companion. His existence was solitary, well outside of the goings on of Salem Village and even further afield of Salem Towne. Hux went weeks without the council of others save for Sunday service which he attended weekly as God commanded. It did not seem odd that visions of her would enter his sleeping mind, he thought of her often enough. But as time went on his dreams became more vivid, more sinful in nature. 

Each night she would come, sweet as always, a smile playing upon her full lips. She would be dressed in her black petticoat and waistcoat, apron still affixed to her waist. It was as tame a dream as anything save for her hair which was always loose, raining down her back in dark thick waves that fell to the curve of her hip. Slowly, and with an aching heart, he would reach for her unbound tresses, running the silken threads of it through his fingers. All the while she watched him, a radiant smile on her kindly face, brown eyes drinking in the image of him beside her. He felt warm in her regard, as if he held her affection in the palm of his hand. It was this fact that made him certain he was dreaming for she held no such feelings for him in his waking hours.

In the day she behaved as usual, speaking little save for a greeting and a question here or there. She offered no radiant smiles and her hair was covered by her cap like any respectable young woman. Despite all of this, her very presence made his blood boil. All day long he felt the silk of her hair against his fingertips, a specter of her nightly visitations and his all consuming want.

As days and nights passed his visions morphed and changed, becoming more and more illicit as the seasons turned. Goody Tico no longer came with just her hair unbound. In the quiet of the night she appeared free of her waistcoat and petticoat, only in her shift and bodies. In the faint light of his fire he could see the outline of her generous hips and the black hair that covered her sex. As always she would lay beside him, smile on her lips, eyes drinking him in, affection dancing in the darkness of her gaze. He no longer felt the silk of her hair instead his hands ran along the velvet of her skin, her own hands guiding him as he went. He awoke gasping, aroused, and desperate. God help him, but he cursed himself daily for waking before he reached the juncture of her thighs. 

In the light of day Goody Tico was still a godly woman, obedient and hard working. She spoke only when spoken to, she prayed with him in the morning and in the afternoon. She even stayed a few moments longer to pray with him before her journey home, lips moving along to the Lord’s Prayer, her tongue never stumbling. She bore no sign of malice or ill intent. She was the embodiment of light and beauty, the opposite of all he imagined a witch could be. 

Again he told himself it was his sinful mind that conjured images of her in states of undress. It was _his_ lust, _his_ wanting, that manifested such lurid images. He never once thought to accuse her of such wickedness. She was an innocent, a lamb who followed the Shepard. Yet the visitations did not cease no matter how much he prayed or read or swam in the cold waters of the nearby lake. Each night she would come and each night he would touch her body and feel the temptation of her warmth beneath him. 

It was not until she spoke to him of her own volition that he suspected she had turned from the light of God. 

****

It was early October, and all had settled into the character of the fall. The leaves had turned from their lively green to the slow decay of red then yellow. The air had gone crisp and biting, whispering threats of impending frost. Each day was shorter than the last, each night growing in size, leaking out like spilled ink. The animals grew furtive and suspicious as they hoarded their meager meals. Some had grown heavy and fat as they lazily prepared for their long slumber. 

Goody Tico came in the early morning, as she always did, a warm smile on her face. In her arms she carried a basket full of wares, food for his table, more thread and wool for darning. He sat in his kitchen, a book of theology open though he no longer read the words. Her presence was distracting, he was well attuned to the sound of her skirts swishing and her breath gently rushing in and out of her rising and falling chest. She moved swiftly, hands working as she unloaded all she had brought. She diligently began to prepare his breakfast, placing the bread, apple, and cheese aside.

“I believe it shall be a long and cold winter.” She announced with little preamble as she cut into the ripe apple. The juice of it ran down her fingers and some horrid part of him wished desperately to lick it off. Would it taste sweeter on her fingers or would it be bitter, tainted by his uncontrollable lust?

“Providence will decide the nature of the season.” He grumbled as he looked up at her face and away from the sinful movement of her hands. She did not look at him but at the fruit before her. Eve held such a fruit as she drew Adam to knowledge. Hux had never understood why the man had taken it but as he watched Goody Tico he felt an acute sympathy for the hapless fool. 

“Aye, but the birds have been gone a long while now. Doth thou not notice the silence?” She asked, finally lifting her gaze to his. He looked away quickly afraid of what she would see residing in the green of his eyes. 

“I pay no attention to the comings and goings of fowl.” He replied, tersely as he tugged on his beard, anxiety making him fidget. His voice was more harsh than he had intended but her words made him overly nervous. There was something canny in her look that made him fearful. She could see more than she ever let on.

“Thou should. They know what the weather brings.” She said with a shrug as she pulled the block of cheese from its cloth, cutting quickly into the skin of it. 

“Thou doth blaspheme, Goody Tico.” He admonished. She looked up sharply, brow raised in question but a small smile upon her full lips. The look was disconcerting and it made him squirm with unease as he raked his long fingers through his hair. She watched him for a moment, eyes focused on the movement of his hands. He wondered, briefly, if she too felt the connection between them. 

“Rose.” She replied, coolly. 

“Pardon?” He asked, unsure of what she meant. 

“I am no longer Goodwife Tico. I am no man’s wife. I am just Rose, once more.” She explained as she turned to make his tea. He watched her, transfixed, the sound of her Christian name ringing in his ears. _Rose._

“ _Rose_ ,” he gave her name weight, testing the form of it out in his tongue. “Looking to the birds for answers is divination. ‘Tis sinful, the work of the Devil. Such things are not for goodly women.” He tried to push away any ontward feelings with cold reprimand but he felt heat rise in him at the sound of her voice, at the utterance of her name. How could he have predicted the power that would come with such a thing? 

“I am a goodly woman, sir. I merely observe, is all. God hath given me good sense and God hath directed the birds to fly. It is He who hath told them when and where to go. I hath only used the tools which God gave me. What sin is in that?” She countered. She was a clever girl, too clever. It made the fire in him roar to a powerful blaze. The desire he had felt for her when she was a silent housemaid doubled as she spared with him, words sharp and witty. 

“Thou hath spoken far above thy station. God need not speak to birds nor creatures below man. He hath given man dominion over all the creatures of the earth and sky. We command the birds.” He replied, head spinning at her cheek. She ran circles around him and he could not dream of catching her. 

“I hath never commanded a bird in all my life. Hath thee?” She replied with a tinkling laugh. The sound was like music, sweet like bells. He would die to hear it again. 

“Do not be purpostorous.” He tried to hide his desire behind his admonishment. He could not be sure of its effectiveness but her knowing smile seemed to belie any confidence he might have had. 

“I hath only followed the path thou hast lain for me. Do not fault my logic, sir, fault thine own.” She wagged her finger at him good naturedly, eyes sparkling with mirth. The look made him sour. He did not like to be mocked. 

“When hast thou become so foul tempered?” He snapped. Her brows raised and a blush rose to the apples of her full cheeks. It was a pretty look though he felt as if he had erred. He desired to turn back time, to engage her in conversation rather than reprimand her for her teasing. He wondered how their conversation would have ended if he showed kindness rather than cold disdain. 

“I have no ill temper, sir. I merely wish to talk.” She protested, voice and face turning sweet and pleading. It made him think of her in her natural state, in his bed, thighs soft beneath his fingers. Heat flooded him and he could feel his cheeks turn crimson. 

“It displeases me.” He huffed, grabbing his plate of breakfast and tea. Embarrassment made him snappish, a veritable beast in his own home. He watched in horror as she jumped back and away from his hand. It brought forth images of his father and made his mood sour further. 

“I do not wish to cause thy displeasure.” She replied with contrition and a soft smile, reaching out a small hand to cover his own. He recoiled at her touch. It was too intimate, too familiar. It mirrored his dreams too closely. He did not wish to think of her in such a state in daytime. 

“Return to your work, Rose.” He commanded, desperate to be free of her. 

“Aye, sir.” She curtsied and scurried away and did not show herself until evening. She did not stay for prayer. 

****

That night Hux’s dream shifted again.

It started as it usually did, him alone in his bed, paralyzed but awake. He waited for her, anticipation washing over him, making his skin heated and flushed. When she finally arrived she was naked, ivory skin glowing gold in the firelight. His mouth went dry at the sight of her. She was exquisite, not a single blemish on her form, each dip and curve of her enticing. He felt a hunger inside him roar to life. He wished he could reach for her, to pull her flush against him but he could not find the will.

_Rose_.

For the first time since his dreams began he had the power of speech and he whispered her name like a prayer, a benediction meant only for her. She smiled, so beautifully, so sweetly his heart ached. He desired her kindness so much it made him burn. His desperation was consuming and he fell into it, unable to curb his weakness. 

She moved toward him, body shifting as she approached his bed. He felt the urge to speak again so that she might reply. Her voice was like a balm to his frayed nerves and he so desperately wished to be soothed by it. 

_Why doth thou appear to me thusly, Rose? Why doth thou tempt me so?_ He asked. 

Her smile sharpened and her deep brown eyes grew dark. Something malevolent filled the room. It was as if they were no longer alone. 

_I hath only followed the path that thou hast lain for me._

She mocked him. She dangled knowledge over him, hiding it with the allure of her delicious form. She twisted his reality, made his mind foggy in his waking and his sleeping. He felt like a pawn in a game he did not know he was playing. All was not as it seemed. 

Rose reached his bed but instead of laying beside him she drew her knees to the mattress, eyes never leaving his. She knelt on his mattress so she was high above his prone body. All power was her’s. Slowly she crawled toward him. Her smile grew and dimples appeared in her soft cheeks as she watched his face turn from trepidation to awe. 

_Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?_ She asked, voice honied and smooth. 

Hux could not react, the power of speech was stripped from him once again. Instead he watched with desperate anticipation as she drew closer to him, the warmth of her body filling his senses. 

_How long I have desired this. So obedient thou art in the darkness._

Rose’s voice was husky as she drew one leg over him, mounting his chest like one would a horse. He was mesmerized, trapped under her glorious form and gaze. He recalled tales of night hags, ghoulish creatures that sat upon their victims stopping their breath. 

Rose was no such devil. She was Beauty and Desire in the shape of a woman. It was the sight of her that stopped his breath, not the weight upon his chest. He would suffer any torment to be surrounded by the glory of her soft thighs, to inhale the earthy scent of her, to look upon the soft bounty of her breasts. Though he could not move he had no desire to. He would gladly perish below her, cradled in the warmth of her body. 

_Wouldst thou like a taste of heaven?_ She asked.

By some miracle Hux could move his head and he nodded eagerly. He would taste anything she fed him. 

She smiled, lips curling with perverse satisfaction as she rose once again on her knees. She moved slowly, catlike, up his prone form. Her hair fell around her, tickling the skin of his bare chest. He wished to reach for it, to feel it between his fingers once again but his hands remained at his side, bound by unseen restraints. 

She reached her destination, resting her velvety thighs on either side of his head, her sex above his mouth. _So this was heaven._ He thought, voice still immobilized by some dark power. He looked upon paradise and could find no words to argue against her. She was as beautiful there as she was everywhere else. She was slick, wet, dripping, a fruit ready to be consumed. He desired to lick the juices from her, mouth greedy and heart full as he drank her down. 

_Feast, my love. Drink thy fill._

And feast he did.

She tasted of the wood, sharp and earthy, like wild sage and fertile earth. Her hair fell around her like a curtain, black silk cascading down the peaks and valleys of her body. She sighed as his tongue met her, hips rolling like waves over his open mouth as he consumed what gifts she gave him. He was finally able to move his arms, the spell that bound them broken by the power of her pleasure. He held her to him as he worked, hands full of her velvety flesh. She was bountiful, spilling between his splayed fingers. She moaned for him, cried out in ecstasy as he filled his belly with her very spirit. 

_Oh how thy tongue delights me._ Rose moaned as her hand shot out to the headboard, holding onto the frame as if she would crumble without it.

The pride that rippled through him at the sight of her so undone made his blood heat. He was impossibly hard. The vision of her, the taste, the smell, filled every one of his senses, blocking out everything but Rose. He was sure he would die from this, would suffocate under her desire, but he could not find the will to live if it meant an end to this divine torture. 

Rose’s cries came more frequently and her body lost its smooth rhythm. She moved as if possessed, hips stuttering and hands scrambling for purchase.

_Please, please, please._ She begged, so soft and pleading. He delighted in the sound of it, in the way her free hand tugged at his hair, making his scalp sting. He felt the tickle of her own hair as her head bowed back, the dark tendrils spilling onto his bare chest. She removed her hand from the headboard and ran her fingers along his arm, encouraging him to hold her tighter, to fuse his body with hers. 

She cried out, voice hoarse, as her body shook like leaves in the wind. She smothered him between her thighs as she fell apart, her body beyond her control. She held his hands to her and tangled her fingers into the copper strands of his hair, pulling with force as she gave into ecstasy. All the while Hux continued to drink from her, her essence dripping down his tongue. 

_Thou hath had enough, my love._ She admonished, gently, as she pushed him away. 

Disappointment stung in his chest as the warmth of her embrace dissipated. He wished to have her close once again, to drink from her for all of his days. His desire must have shown for she laughed, softly, and reached her hand out toward him. 

_Doth thou think I have had my fill?_ She asked. 

Gently she stroked his hair, pushing it away from his face. The action called to mind some long buried memory, a memory he wished to see buried once more. So he did the arduous work of pushing it from his mind, focusing instead on the curl of Rose’s full lips and the scent of sage and honey that hung about her. She watched him, drinking him in, a smile upon her lips. In this way his dream remained the same.

_I do not rightly know._ He answered her, finally able to speak again. She grinned, a wicked smile, one full of dark promise. 

_I shall have thee again and again. Have no doubt. I shall never grow tired of thy tongue._ She leant forward as if to kiss him but before her lips touched his she spoke again.

_Arise. The morning seeks to greet thee. Best not keep it waiting._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be mindful of the tags, my dears! Please take care of yourselves.

Hux woke hard and aching, his body and mind buzzing like a hive. He took himself in hand, spilling in mere moments, so potent was his arousal. The guilt and revulsion was immediate. He was not one to indulge in such behaviors, not since his youth. He had always prided himself on being in full control of his baser instincts. He was a man of God not of nature. But the mere thought of Rose set him alight and he was powerless under her spell. 

His tongue still held the flavor of her: sage and earth. If he closed his eyes he could hear her cries of pleasure and feel the soft press of her thighs against his flushed face. It was witchcraft, he was sure of it. By some strange incantation she manifested in his dreams and still haunted him though the light of morning fanned out across the floorboards. He could feel her presence in every corner of his bedroom, filling it up with her scent and her heat. 

It was suffocating. He felt the weight of it press down upon him like stones on his chest. It was as if the air had turned to water and he was drowning in the swift, unrelenting current. He had the overwhelming need to escape, to claw his way free. The walls of his home felt too confining, his skin felt too hot and sticky, his lungs begged for fresh air. He readied himself, quickly, so he could taste the crisp morning breeze and feel the crunch of dying leaves beneath his boot. He needed grounding, he needed clarity and there would be none inside the prison in which he lived. 

Hux rushed out into the peach colored morning, welcoming the clean cold wind with open and eager arms. He heard no birds, no morning song, and he thought again of Rose and her teasing words. His face heated as he imagined her puckish smile above him as she took him in hand before they joined in intimate congress. 

God help him, he was utterly adrift. Her spell had been cast and he had no desire to break free of it. The battle for his soul had already been lost and he had not yet taken up arms to defend himself. 

Hux had unconsciously taken the path that led to town. His feet carried there by some unseen force. It was the only road that had been laid, so desolate was this land. He had no desire to visit the village, no need to converse with his fellow man but there was safety in following something preordained. To venture off this path would mean wandering dangerously close to the dark call of the wood. 

Even as Hux walked along the road, the wood whispered to him. It spoke in a language that he could not comprehend, something ancient and inhuman. He tried to keep his eyes ahead, to not be tempted by the fearful beauty of the trees but it begged him to turn his gaze toward the alluring darkness. 

To his great horror he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, a rustling of leaves, a blur of something among the dark brown boughs. Fear gripped him in its icy fingers. The hairs on the back of his neck raised as he felt the ancient terror of a creature who knew it was prey. 

Slowly, with great trepidation, he turned his gaze toward the wood, toward its eerie call. He saw a flash of movement, a dash of white and black, as if someone watched him from the trees and wished not to be seen. He stared at the spot, mind working to explain away his dread. He told himself it was just a deer searching for its morning meal, nothing more. He knew that was not the truth but the lie felt better. 

“Master Hux?” A voice broke him from his reverie and he turned back to face the road.

Rose stood before him, basket in hand, a look of confusion gracing her lovely face. He felt her bewilderment in his own countenance for just a moment before, there had been no sign of her. The road was straight and open, one could see what was before them clearly and yet he had not seen Rose’s approach. It was as if she materialized out of thin air and it frightened him greatly. How long had he watched the wood? 

“Thou hath given me a fright.” He snapped as he tried to regain his wits. He had little hope he would. His sanity seemed to be slipping through his fingers like water through a broken cup. 

“‘‘Twas not my intention. I was surprised by thine appearance, is all. I believe far more so than thee.” Rose replied with a sweet smile, head tilting as she observed him. He felt uncomfortable under her examination and his agitation grew. 

“I doubt this to be true.” He said with a long sigh, trying desperately to calm his frayed nerves.

“‘‘Tis the truth.” She protested. “It is rare that I hath seen thee on the road. Art thou traveling to the village?” She asked, hand gesturing back in the direction of Salem. 

“No. I do not wish to speak with any person.” He replied. She chuckled at his response, shaking her head slightly. 

“Thou hast deigned to speak with me.” She teased, her hand coming up to her chest as she gestured to her person. For too long a moment he looked upon the generous rise of her breasts, eager to see them again and feel the weight of them in the palm of his hands. He looked away quickly, eyes once more darting toward the wood. 

“Thou art an exception.” He confessed. He turned back to her, gaze returning to her face. She looked at him with a barely concealed tenderness. It stirred much in him. Much that he wished to keep hidden. 

“It pleases me to be an exception.” She replied softly, a confession to match his own. 

“I aim to please thee.” He was earnest in his words. He would have her know that her pleasure was his own. 

“I thank thee, sir. Thou art a kind master.” She dipped her head, a pose of humility. He knew the truth, though. He knew she was as bold as brass when the sun dipped below the horizon. 

“I was not so kind to thee yesterday mourn.” He leaned slightly toward her as if he would whisper a secret in her ear. She looked up at him, eyes wide in shock.

“I spoke out of turn. There is no need to seek forgiveness.” Rose insisted. 

“It may be so but I would still seek forgiveness, all the same.” She smiled at his words, eyes sparkling. He felt the breath leave him at the sight. 

“And thou shalt have it.” She replied, cheerily. He felt his own lips curve into a rare grin. Rose had changed him greatly. 

“May I walk with thee?” He asked, turning back toward his home. 

Rose smiled and nodded as she hesitantly moved to walk by his side. They strolled in companionable silence with enough space between them to avoid scandal. But Hux felt his body gravitate toward hers, as if she had him on an invisible string. As the distance between them shortened his mind turned to lustful imaginings. 

Though his dreams were vivid he had a great need to realize them in his waking hours. He ached to see her glory in the sunshine, to examine the varied hues her hair would take in the bright light. He wished to feel her warmth now, not just when his eyes closed and her spell took hold of him. He wished to be in charge of all his faculties. He wished for control, to be the arbiter of their mutual desires. He wished to bring her pleasure but on his own terms. 

He watched her out to the corner of his eye, trying his best to disguise his sinful intentions. She was much changed from how she appeared in the night. She looked so innocent in her deep blue waistcoat and crisp white cap. In this form none would suspect her of witchcraft. None could imagine the power she wielded. None would know of her varied carnal appetites. She slipped so easily into her role as godly woman, as easily as she slipped into his dreams. 

Hux realized, with some surprise, he had no desire to wait to have her again. Night was many hours away and she was so close, so beautiful, so lovely. He needed her in this moment, in the harshness of sunlight. 

They arrived at his home and Rose made her way to the kitchen to begin his breakfast. He followed her, his hunger peaked for a different kind of feast. 

He moved behind her, hand coming to rest on the dip of her waist. She turned, eyes wide in surprise, the corner of her mouth turned up as if she were ready to smile.

“I wish to taste thee in the daylight.” He whispered to her, afraid to speak too loud lest he frighten her. He did not succeed for her face transformed from curiosity into one of trepidation.

“Taste me?” She asked, voice trembling as she tried to comprehend his meaning. He was surprised by her response, she behaved as if he did not know what had transpired between them. He would remind her.

“Do not act coy. You know what I am about.” He insisted. She shook her head and moved away from his touch, backing up until she hit the table. The motion startled her and she jumped.

“No, sir, I am at a loss.” She replied, breath coming out in gasps. He chuckled, and advanced upon her further. 

“I am wise to thee, witch.” He warned. She looked up, true fear painted on her face. 

“Doth thou accuse me of witchcraft?” She asked, her voice high and frightened. Again he laughed. She thought herself so very clever but he was wise to her. 

“How else am I under thy spell nightly?” He teased, hand once again reaching for her waist. She moved quickly, avoiding his touch.  _ So this is how it would be _ , Hux thought. ‘Twas a game of cat and mouse she wished to play. 

“Spell? Doth thou dream of me?” Her brow furrowed in what looked like real confusion. She was a skilled liar, much better than he. 

“Thou doth know I do.” He reached for her again, this time the smooth skin of her face. She stilled eyes wide, like a deer before a hunter.

“I do not.” She insisted. “Pray tell me what I do in dreams?” She reached up hesitantly, placing her hand over his. Gently she removed it from her person, letting it drop to his side. 

“Thou hast bid me to taste thee. To sup at the nectar between thine legs.” She gasped at his words, shaking her head frantically. 

“I have done no such thing! Thou hath imagined this! That is what dreaming is.” She cried, moving quickly away from him. As quickly as a frightened mouse. He watched, patiently, as she darted to the other side of the table, making distance between them. 

“‘Tis witchcraft.” He persisted. Her fear turned to anger, face morphing into a tight rage. 

“I have no power, sir. If I had magic, I most certainly would not live thusly.” She extended her arms with an exaggerated flourish. He was taken aback by her statement. Did she not enjoy her employment? Was his home so awful, was his presence so despised?

“Thou hast told me falsehoods.” He said between clenched teeth. He was growing tired of this game, now. It frustrated him that she would not bend to his will as easily as she did in the cloak of night. 

“I speak plainly, sir. I am no witch.” She persisted. Ah, now he understood. She feared he would tell the others, that she would be tried and hanged for her crimes. He wished to dispel her of that notion. 

“I do not care if thee be witch or not. I would have thee in daylight, is all.” He clarified. It did nothing to ease her.

“Have me?” She asked though it did not sound like a question. It sounded like a rebuke.

“I hunger, Rose. I beg thee to slake my thirst.” 

He lunged for her, capturing her around the waist and pulling her toward him, her face close to his. She shrieked in terror, still dedicated to her lie. How strange. He had freed her, he had broken the chains of her deception so she could feed her lust unabated. She need not come to him in dreams for he invited her to find her pleasure now, yet she did not behave as she should. He supposed she wished to keep up the charade, to continue the game they played. It mattered not for he would have her in the light of the sun and she would be grateful. 

“Please, sir, I beg of thee! Thou art unwell! Let me care for thee. I will bring thee to health and to God.” She reached for him, her small hand cradling his face. For a moment he basked in her touch, enjoying the way her thumb stroked the skin above his beard. 

“I am perfectly well and with God. Do not fear for my soul, sweet witch. Fear for thine own.” He replied tenderly. She did not see it so. She released his cheek, anger taking hold of her once more. She thrashed, wildly, attempting to break free.

“I am no witch, you fool!” She spat. “I am but a woman who thou hast taken a fancy. Thou hath confused desire with reality. I beg of thee to see reason!” She threw herself against his arms, the force of her desperation making her strong. But he was stronger. 

“Thou hath no need to play such games, Rose. I see the truth.” He went to stroke her cheek, to ease her mind. She returned his attempted affection with a vicious bite on his finger. The force of her anger was astonishing, the bite breaking skin and sinking deeper and deeper as if to meet bone. 

By some miracle she released him and he stared in horror at his injured appendage, watching as blood dropped out and slid down his hand. The white of his cuff turned red with the evidence of her fury. The pain was almost blinding and he screamed in agony as he looked at the gorey mess she had created. He heard her spit and knew she expelled his blood from her vicious mouth. 

The bite had made his arms go lax and Rose, clever as she was, saw an opportunity. In one smooth motion she slipped from his grasp and made for his back door, running like the Devil was on her very heels. She was quick but he was quicker. He wrapped one arm around her waist and hauled back toward him. 

“Release me at once!” She screamed, kicking the air as he carried her back toward the kitchen table. 

“Be still!” He commanded between clenched teeth. An unmistakable shudder came from her little body as she tried to continue her fight. A sob tore out from her throat, and he felt tears splash along the skin of his arm. 

“Please, sir, release me! I shan’t tell a soul what has transpired here.” She begged, her voice strained and wet as whimpers escaped her lips. 

“Why must thou play such games? Thou hath felt the pleasure I can give thee. Doth thou not want to feel it again?” He stroked her face soothingly with his free had. He did not realize at first that his injured finger trailed blood down her soft cheeks until she turned her head to glare at him. 

“Master Hux, I hath not done what thou hast dreamed me to do. I am innocent!” She snapped through her tears. He bristled at her disdain and biting words. Why would she not bend?

“Silence, witch. I grow tired of thy protestations. Lay back and let me devour thee.” He commanded as he laid her down on his kitchen table. Was there a better place for him to feast upon her wanting body?

Silent tears streamed down her full cheeks as she looked away from him, finally acquiescing to his demands. Her body stilled, her thrashing ceased, and her cruel words lay dormant on her tongue. At last she let him show her his desire and now he would demonstrate how well he could serve her in the day and the night. He would make this witch his wife, make her turn back to God as he took pleasure in her body. He would save her and in turn she would be his own salvation. 

He lifted her skirts with aching devotion, like a man before the Divine. With shaking hands he pulled her garments up to her waist so he could look upon her heavenly form, unobstructed.

Rose’s beauty was almost too much to behold in his waking. She was all pink skin, glistening and ripe. Her sweet cunt was the perfect manifestation of the glory of God’s creation: a blooming flower in a barren field, a split rock that manifested a waterfall, a cavern in which jewels resided. Her scent cloaked him, all sharp sage and warm earth. He needed to taste her, needed to know the flavor of her once again. 

Gently, he kissed her center, his tongue and lips worshipful on her slick cunt. She tasted just as he remembered, her essence like a long forgotten but beloved meal. He heard a gasp escape her then a sob as he ran his tongue along the length of her throbbing center. She twisted, attempting to escape him but he held firm to her shaking thighs, desperate to show her what pleasure he could bring. 

Hux continued his diligent work, listening to the labored breath that shuddered through her panting lips. He was sure he was giving her pleasure, sure that he could feel her body quake under his skillful mouth. He knew he had succeeded when she sat up on her elbows, her calf brown eyes seeking out his. Part of him was afraid she would fight him again, that she would continue her lie to its natural conclusion but she did not. Instead she reached out, tentatively as if he were a wild creature she wished to tame, and ran her hand through the strands of his hair, gripping with light pressure. 

“What hath thou done to me?” She asked, her voice broken and hoarse, still raw from her tears. She moaned lowly, as he sucked on the delicate pearl at the top of her cunny. The hand in his hair gripped tighter and her thighs pulled in until they brushed against his bearded cheeks. He gripped her legs, prying them apart, his injured finger leaving smudges of blood along her ivory skin. 

Hux had forgotten the pain in his finger, so focused was he on bending Rose to his will. Now he felt it throb and weep like the witch who writhed against his tongue. In the span of a few minutes he had mastered his pain just as he had mastered the creature before him. 

“Please, more, I beg of thee.” 

She shook like the needles of an evergreen, like a dancing flame. Her face was flushed, eyes sparkling and distant, lost to ecstasy. He drew his injured finger along the white expanse of her thigh, leaving a trail of blood behind, hot and sticky on her creamy flesh. Slowly he slipped it over her wetness, hissing as her essence made his wound sting. 

She watched, face a mix of horror and pleasure as he pushed the mangled appendage into her cunt. She gasped, eyes rolling backwards as he curled it upwards toward heaven. 

“My God, I am undone.” She moaned as Hux began to pump his finger in and out of her, slipping another inside to join its brother. His mouth returned to its place at the top of her sex. All she needed was a brush of his tongue and a gentle suck on her pearl and she shattered, body writhing and quaking around him, a scream torn from reddened lips. She gripped him with her fingers, her thighs, her tightening cunt until she had enough of pleasure. 

She shoved him away, none too gently, still trembling from her release. In the throes of ecstasy her cap had come loose. Now it dangled around her neck leaving her head bare, strands of hair falling against her flushed face. Dried blood dotted her skin, painting her thighs and cheek. In his right mind the sight would have been ghastly but now, with lust overwhelming his senses, it set him aflame.

She tentatively slipped from the table, stepping away from him on shaking legs. She watched him for a moment, her eyes guarded as she smoothed her skirt, hands trembling as she fingered the pleats. 

There was a quiet and volatile energy around her. Her skin was flushed with it and her body shook as it tried to keep whatever emotions flowed through her inside. She was like a hive ready to burst, a swarm of angry stinging creatures ready to fly from the cracks of her visage. 

“What hast thou done to me?” Her voice was low, deadly in its quietness. He felt a shiver run down his spine.

“Nothing I hath not done before in the quiet of night.” 

He was insistent, though doubt crept into the dark recesses of his mind. He pushed it away. To doubt was to admit to an evil he was not ready to face. He would not doubt lest he collapse under the weight of his transgression. 

“So thou hast said.” She snapped, moving toward him with sharp angry steps. Her fists were clenched at her sides. She seemed ready to strike. 

“I have only brought to light what was hidden in darkness.” His tone was pleading. He begged her to admit that she had cast spells on him, to admit she desired him, to admit she fell into his bed night after night. She did no such thing, 

“Some things are best left in darkness, sir. Thou hast erred greatly.” She advanced, coming up to him so their chests almost touched. This close he could see the tracks that her tears had left, the fury in her eyes. It frightened him more than he could say. 

“I am no witch, Master Hux. I have no power. I know no incantations. I have no malice nor wish to fall into damnation. I am but a woman. I am but a creature of nature and of God. Believe this! Believe that I have never cast spells upon thee!” Each sentence she spoke was punctuated by the press of her hand to his chest, a shove filled with every ounce of her vital strength. He swayed under the power of her anger. 

“Thou hast cast spells.” She whispered. Her tone was harsh and foreboding, sharp as needles against his skin. He remained silent, letting her rebuke fall upon him like icy rain. 

“What thou hast done to me on that table is some foul magic for I have fallen from grace under thy tongue and hand.” She grabbed the front of his doublet, her hands fisting in the woolen fabric as she hauled his face close to hers, until their mouths were just a hairbreadth apart. 

This close he could see each of her eyelashes like silken threads fanned out over the flushed roundness of her cheeks. He could see each brown freckle dotting her smooth skin, evidence of her time in the sun. He could see the deep pools of her eyes, warm brown like fertile earth dampened by rainfall. She was resplendent even under his scrutiny and he could not help the erratic beat of his heart as he basked in her beauty. 

Her gaze held no reciprocation. The hunger that resided there seemed ferocious not reverentional. He could not bring himself to care for all he desired in this moment was her touch. Her love could come later.

Suddenly she closed the small space between them and pressed her lips against his. She took control of him, the movement of her mouth consuming. She kissed him so deeply, movements punishing and desperate as she pulled his lower lip into her mouth so it could fall victim to her sharp teeth. 

Their joining turned bloody again, the metallic flavor filling Hux’s mouth as she nipped and pulled at him, fingers tearing through his flame colored hair. Hux wondered if she could taste herself on his tongue, if she knew that sage and honey dripped from her open legs. Could she taste it through the copper tang of his own blood? Could she taste it through her fury? Would she welcome it as easily as her cunt welcomed his tongue and hand?

She broke from him, gasping, lips red from his attentions. Her hands flew the ties of her kirtle as she made to undress. 

“Thou hast brought me to the Devil, Master Hux. I bid thee to show me his delights.” Her voice was husky, low, and her eyes grew dark with wanting.

Hux felt his skin heat and his blood run hot through his veins. With quickness and alacrity he did not know he possessed he divested himself of his clothing, boots and all, until he was naked as the day he came.

Rose did the same, her garments fluttering to the ground like birds weary from a long and arduous journey. She stood before him, in the sunshine of early morning, body glowing in warm light. Her hair was loose about her, falling in midnight waves to the curve of her hip. He was astounded by her glory, so different from how she looked in firelight. 

He moved without knowledge until his hands were on her, guiding her to the kitchen table once again. 

She fell back upon it, legs spread for him, cunt open like a ripe fruit. She slid a hand over her dripping quim, fingers glistening with her juices as she pleasured herself. He watched, mouth agape, as she sighed in ecstacy, delighting in the mess she made. Once her hand was covered in her slick she reached for him, cuffing his cock in her grasp. Her essence made her movements smooth, an expert touch on his sensitive member.

“I shall come undone.” He moaned as ran her clever fingers over the tender head. 

“No thou wilt not. I shall have my pleasure.” She purred as she lined her greedy cunt up to his leaking hardness. Slowly she took him in, sucking his very soul out of his throbbing cock. 

The world burned in that glorious moment. Around him flames licked and fire consumed each and every living creature until it was just Rose and the pleasure she gave him. The air was filled with her scent, his tongue was heavy with her flavor, his skin was alite with her warmth, his heart full of her passion. 

Her cunt was velvet, gripping and hot. She gasped so softly as he moved within her, a whimper of pleasure slipping from parted lips. He moaned, stilling for a moment so he would not spill too quickly. Her cunny clenched around him, begging for him to fuck her, to move in time with her undulating hips. 

He answered the call of her body, moving in a slow but sharp rhythm. The legs of the table scrapped against the floor as he pounded into her, filling the room with other sounds beside the slap of their skin and gasping breath. 

It was a give and take, a push and pull, an end and a beginning. His hands moved to cradle her body, to feel the flutter of her heart against her ribs. It matched his own. They beat in time with one another: a concert of pumping organs, of blood rushing through veins. The act was so completely human but so utterly divine. The pleasure was something beyond imagination, the beauty of it undefinable in earthly language. 

Her hands slid along his sweating skin, down the nape of his neck, fingers playing in the strands of his hair. She pulled him close, teeth sinking into the tendon of his shoulder as their pace grew frantic. He could feel her cries of pleasure, he could hear his own gasps of ecstacy rasp in and out of his open mouth.

“I need thy clever fingers, Master Hux.  _ Please. _ ” 

She said his name like a prayer. It fell from her lips on an elongated moan, one he drew out with his fingers on her pearl. She whined as he worked her, eyes rolling back as her body fluttered around him. 

It was all too much: her cries, her cunt, her divine beauty. He fell apart, spine snapping as he spilled inside her, her name a benediction. She followed suit, a scream pulled from her as his final thrust sent her over the edge into ecstasy. 

They trembled together, bodies still locked in an intimate embrace. Hux leaned close to her, placing a tender kiss on the roundness of her shoulder. She sighed, eyes closing as his lips followed the curve of her neck to the plush give of her mouth. She kissed him softly, pushing him away when she had enough of tenderness.

“Stay.” He begged with no shame. He was laid bare before her, body and soul. Her brows furrowed and a look of confusion fell over her cherubic face.

“I will stay till the day is done.” She replied as she reached for him, gently stroking his hair away from his face.

That sharp ache of things remembered filled him once again and he struggled to dispel it. He grabbed her hand, pulling it to his heart as if her touch alone could banish his pain.

“No. Rose, stay the night. Stay all thy days and nights in this house.”

Oh how he wanted her to stay, to fend off the demons of his loneliness. He wanted her to sleep by his side and wake in his arms each morning. What a fool he had become to wish for these domestic earthly things, but wish he did. 

“I cannot.” She whispered, her head shaking back and forth. He felt as if a knife had been shoved through him. A pain worse than memory took hold and he struggled to breath.

“Why?” He croaked, emotion making his throat feel tight. She tried to soothe him with her gentle touch, fingers softly stroking the bare skin of his chest. It did little to ease his torment. 

“We are not married, sir. I will not live in sin.” She explained, voice quiet yet pleading. Something like hope bloomed in his chest. He laughed. So this was what made her shy. 

“Did we not just sin?” He asked her as he stroked her plush cheek. She blushed and shook her head. 

“Aye. But no one else was here to witness our transgression.” She was right, of course. Sin seen by God was hard to bear, but sin seen by man was something altogether worse. God’s punishments were often gentler. 

He would make amends. 

“Then marry me so thou whilst sin no more.” He was smiling like a fool now, a man drunk on his own happiness.

“I have no wish to marry.”

How easily he was sobered. 

“Tis every woman’s wish to marry.” He insisted, anger making his words sharp. Her face turned sour and she shook her head, a twinkle of defiance in her eye. 

“I am not every woman.” Her voice was firm and her eyes hard as she looked at him. He would not be deterred. 

“And I am not every man. What a fine couple we make.” He teased, trying to win her gentle affections. A ghost of a smile played on her lips but she shook her head once again. 

“Thou art foolish, sir. I have no dowry, no family. I am a poor widow with nothing to offer.” She replied. 

He had no need of money, no need of family, no need for a young untried wife. Money he had, his father had made sure of that. And his family he despised, his father made sure of that too. She was perfect as she was. 

“I am in no need of money or family. I am in need of thee, Rose. Wouldst thou give me what I need?” He asked, desperate for her answer. She reached for him, taking his bearded cheeks between her hands. 

“I shall think on it, Master Hux.” She assured him. It was not the answer he desired but it was a step toward it. Hope was a dangerous thing. 

“Armitage. Call me Armitage at least when we are alone.” He begged. He would hear his name from her lips if he could not have her. At least she would give him this. 

She smiled before she pressed her lips to his in a hungry kiss. He tucked away the feeling of her affection. He held it to him like a precious jewel for he did not know if she would take it away. 

“Armitage, my love, let me think on it. When the sun rises tomorrow I shall have an answer for thee.” She vowed, holding his hands in hers. It was enough of a promise, enough tenderness, to see him through a dreamless night into a cold morning. 


	3. Chapter 3

The air was bitterly cold. Even the dawn light did little to exercise the frigid breeze. The morning sun shone ominously through long clouds, casting the world in a red glow. It brought to mind images of damnation, of the fires of sin. It sent a chill down the spine. Dread stalked the wood, the field, the sky, the river, the earth. All the world was made in a fearful image, a mirror of its own demise. It felt as if the horsemen were on their way, ready to bring forth the end of days before the sun had fully risen to greet this one. 

Hux walked in the red light. He paced with frantic urgency along the path, his breath billowing out in front of him like clouds of smoke. Few birds chirped. The only sound was the crunching leaves beneath his stomping feet. His mind turned like the wheel of a loom. His thoughts jumped about in haphazard fashion, dancing like flames, never settling on one thing for too long.

He thought of Rose, mostly. He thought of her body joined with his. He thought about the softness of her skin. He thought of the sound of her voice in ecstasy. He thought of her biting teeth. He thought of her tenderness. And he thought of her rejection. 

He feared little in this world as much as he feared her refusal. It haunted him like a cruel specter, always beside him. A devilish companion, this fear. It tempted him to do desperate things. He thought of going to Salem Village, to her home. He did not know what he would do once he arrived but he entertained the idea, nonetheless.

Hux also thought of the wood. 

In all his time on its edges he had never been so tempted. The wood was loud, louder than it had ever been. It was deafening in the eerie red light of the early morning. Like an impatient child it begged and pleaded for him to enter its toothy grasp, its gaping maw. The boughs of the trees bent to him, the leaves whispered softly, the branches snapped and beckoned to him. 

He felt a rough pull in his chest like a string was tied around his heart and the other end was somewhere deep within the forest. There, among the swaying and snapping trees unforeseen hands yanked at it, tugging at his heart and willing him to enter its dark jaws. 

And he fell into temptation. Prey to the forest, to old and earthly things. 

****

Hux deterred from the path that lay before him like a fool. He was a lamb running toward the open mouth of a wolf. He fell away from the safety of man’s creation and into the darkness of wild and untamed nature. 

When he was a child his mother taught him to love crawling vines, to cherish the deep roots, to hold dear the hearty herbs. She showed him how to live in wildness, to be mistrustful of man’s maneuverings. He had done so. And in the dark woods of England he was raised. But only for a breadth of time, a moment of joy. Only before he was pulled away from her arms, only before men bade him speak, bade him tell tales of brews and incantations. Only before the snapping of a neck and a swallowed cry of a child.

Memory was dangerously close on this path not often traveled. The well trodden road was behind him and the untried grass bent beneath the force of his falling boot. He made his way, with little trepidation, toward the edge of the beckoning wood. 

The branches whispered their glee as he finally stepped foot on the fertile earth. Roots and vines danced in joy as a new victim fell prey to their enchantments. There was nothing quite as beautiful as the light filtering through the leaves, nothing as awe inspiring as being surrounded by ancient behemoths, ancestors and creators of life in this strange world. 

They were watchful sentinels. Unseen eyes surveyed their kingdom of dirt and greenery, tasting dew drops and change on the wind. Stepping through trunks and their fallen brethren was like stepping into another realm, one no longer inhabited by God’s creatures. It was all together something frightfully strange.

It was silent save for the faint rustling of falling leaves. No creatures moved about, no animals called, no birds flew. It was still. All sat frozen in wait as Hux moved around rocks and roots. The tug of his heart led him like one would lead a creature to slaughter. 

Amongst the trees, far in the deepest reaches of the forest, lay a little home made of fallen twigs and rusted nails. Smoke danced above its approximation of a chimney. Hux knew, with chilly certainty, that this was the place he was meant to be. The pull of his beating organ was stronger than ever, violent in its instastance. A tightness formed in the deep well of his chest and his breath came in short angry bursts. The world spun around him, the trees blurring like running paint. He paused, feet taking him to a fallen log where he sat, willing his vision to right itself again. 

“Art thou well, sir?” A deep voice called to him. 

Hux turned with a start, his heart lodged in his throat.  _ Who was this who lived in the dark strangeness of the wood? _

A man stood before him, eyes shielded by the wide brim of his hat, dark hair curling to his broad shoulders. He was well dressed, far better dressed than anyone in Salem Village and most in Salem Towne. He reminded Hux of men from England, of the wealth that they all had left behind. He felt so familiar. He looked like someone Hux had seen a thousand times. 

“Aye, sir. Simply resting a spell.” Hux lied. Something inside him told him to show this man no weakness. It did not matter, a man such as this smelled fear on the wind.

“Why hast thou wandered into these woods?” The Stranger asked, head tilting as he regarded Hux. The action did not reveal his eyes as it should have. He was forever shrouded in darkness, unknowable. Hux felt the chill of the morning run through his bones. 

“I live not but a mile away. It doth suit a man to be intimate with his surroundings.” Hux replied. The man smiled. A wicked and terrifying thing was his handsome smile.

“It does, indeed.”

“Doth thou live in the village?” Hux knew he did not. A man like this would be hard to miss in the meeting house. 

“On occasion.” The Stranger replied with a noncommittal shrug. Again Hux was consumed by the overwhelming feeling of familiarity. 

“I do not catch thy meaning.” Hux shifted on the log, moving imperceptibly away from the well dressed man. The Stranger noticed and chuckled at his weak attempt at escape. 

“It matters not.” The Stranger assured him. It was not reassuring. 

“Who art thou?” Hux asked as fear began to take hold of his person. 

Flashes of his life spilled out before him like milk from an overturned bucket. His mother’s swinging body, his father’s falling hand, the screams of heretics burning in angry flames, the violent rocking of a boat at sea, the angry shouts of a slave auctioneer, babes dead in their cradles, Rose’s tears. As each memory flashed before his eyes the Stranger wove his way through them all, on the periphery, not ready to be completely perceived. 

“Thou hath known me.” The man replied with a sly smile and cold surety. His voice sounded ancient and resonant as if it came from deep in the earth, bouncing off the trunks of the trees. 

“I do not, sir.” Hux choked out though the words held no truth. His vision swam again as the enormity of his predicament became clearer. 

Hux looked away from his malevolent companion and toward the mouth to the wood. Even though he was deep inside it’s jaws he could see the light from the road through the jagged placement of sleeping trees. He thought of Rose, of her arrival. If she knew he were here in the belly of this terrifying darkness would she come to save him?

“She will not come.” Hux snapped his head toward his companion who smiled back. Hux could feel the rising tide of his terror within his chest, strangling his lungs and turning his stomach.  _ God, why hath thou forsaken me? _

“Thou speaketh in riddles, sir.” Hux replied as he tried to reassure himself that all could not be as it seemed. 

Perhaps he was simply mad. What a relief it would be to find out this was all a terrifying dream imagined in his wakefulness. Madness would be a welcome respite compared to this terrifying truth. 

“I speak plainly. She will not come.” The man said with a shrug. He moved now, slowly like a hunting cat. He stood directly in front of Hux, eyes still hidden in shadow. 

“I believe thee not.” Hux whispered as he looked down upon his trembling hands. 

“Thou hast injured her greatly.” The Stranger replied. 

Hux’s eyes snapped up to meet the Stranger’s though they still remained hidden. Anger coursed through his veins now, a twin to his terror. Who was this creature, this devil, to speak to him of injury? To blaspheme his love for Rose?

“Lies!” Hux snapped as he stood, pacing away from the Stranger. 

“So thou hast said.” The Stranger smiled slyly, head turned as if his eyes followed Hux.

“Pray tell, how should a woman behave toward a man who hath taken her by force?” He taunted Hux.

Hux’s vision narrowed to a pinpoint and his breath stilled. Fury was all that he knew in that moment, fear a forgotten emotion. 

“I did no such thing!” Hux shouted with such force the remaining leaves shook from their branches. The Stranger simply let out a hearty laugh. 

“Surely thou hast not fooled thyself to such an extent.”

“Silence, stranger! I will hear no more from thee!” His voice had grown thick, tears pricked at the back of his eyes. 

God help him, what evil had he wrought? Bile rose in the back of his throat and threatened to escape. He silenced his doubt as best he could with memories of Rose’s sighs of pleasure, of her fearsome kisses and tender touches. This truth, this evil truth, must be denied or he would drown in his own damnation.

“Suit thyself. I only wish to enlighten thee.” The Stranger said with a bored sigh. 

“I am enlightened!” His dark companion laughed at his falsehoods. He moved closer to Hux, eyes still hidden like a winding sheet over his very soul. 

“There hath never been a man more shrouded in darkness.” Hux let out a bitter laugh at the irony of the Stranger’s words. Was he not the Prince of Darkness? 

“Pray tell what keeps me so?” Hux asked, his tone mocking. 

“Willfulness, guilt, fear, loneliness. I may add to this list but I grow weary.” The Stranger replied with a shrug. 

“How doth thou know me so well? I hath no recollection of thee.”

“Sir, thou hath accused me of lies but now ‘tis thee who tells falsehoods.” The Stranger moved toward him again, trapping Hux among the crowding trees. 

Fear overtook his irritation, tasting bitter on his tongue. Was this how a creature felt before their demise? Did they feel anger and despair fall over them like a smothering blanket, ready to extinguish a flame?

“I grow weary of thy maneuverings. Speak plainly!” Hux shouted as he darted around the Stranger. The man smiled, his teeth glinting in the low light of the wood. He looked like a wolf, a predator closing in on their prey. 

“The lady will not come for thou hast injured her beyond repair. Thou hath done her cruelly and thou will burn for this. Is this plain enough?” He asked with the sweep of his hand. 

Hux felt his soul cry out at the Stranger’s words. His stomach twisted and once again he felt as if he would be sick. 

_ Pray tell, how should a woman behave toward a man who hath taken her by force? _

Surely he was no such fiend, he reasoned though reason was not his to have. Again he recalled her kisses, her touch, the way she had cried out in pleasure. 

_ What hast thou done to me? _ She spoke of love, surely. She could not have spoken of pain. 

“Lies! She has affection for me.” Hux insisted. He could not doubt. He could not! To doubt was to imagine himself crueler than any devil. 

“Like a hare has affection for a wolf. She must work in thy home. She must consider her life. She fought thee, did she not? Thy finger still bears her mark.” Hux looked down at his angry and mangled finger. He could still see the impression of her teeth, still feel the pain of her rebuke. 

_ Like a hare has affection for a wolf.  _ How could he have been blind to his own power? He was a man in this world and she was just a poor woman. What recourse did she have? What power was hers? 

These thoughts were too dangerous, too bitter, to contemplate. Better to live in ignorance. 

“She was confused.” Hux said more for himself than the Stranger. It was better to think she did not know herself than for him to face his own evil. He was not a man who could bear the scrutiny of self reflection.

“Thou hath an extraordinary talent. Pray tell how doth one develop such a skill?” The Stranger teased him, mirth coloring his rumbling voice. Hux felt the itch of irritation and his cheeks bloomed pink in embarrassment. 

“What skill?”

“To lie so effortlessly to thyself. I hath never seen it done so expertly.” The Stranger laughed. It was hearty and deep and once again it seemed as if his voice did not come from just his person but from the wood around them and the earth below. 

“I am truthful. I am a Godly man.” Hux insisted though he did not believe it to be so. God had left him in the wilderness and he knew in his heart he would not be rescued from his own sin. 

“Thou art far from God here.” The man’s voice had grown dark, a tempest amongst the falling leaves and snapping branches. Hux felt a chill so deep it could not have come from the air. 

“Then I shall leave. I hath no desire to be from Him any longer.” Hux’s voice shook. Tears began to form in the corners of his eyes and his vision swam. 

_ God, why hath thou forsaken me? _

“Do what thou wilt. I shall be here waiting for thy return.” The Stranger replied as he made his way to the log Hux had occupied. He took a seat as if ready to wile away the hours on the rotting corpse of an oak. 

“Why should I return when thou hath been so inhospitable?” Hux cried out, voice hoarse with emotion. 

“For I can giveth thee what thou desire.” The Stranger’s voice had gone smooth and sweet like honey. His tone coaxing, his manner the picture of temptation. 

“I desire nothing that thou can giveth me.” Hux lied for he desired many things only a devil could give. 

“Thou hath no desire to procure sweet Rose’s hand?” The Stranger asked. 

“I shall come by it honestly.” Hux insisted.

And he meant it. He would not have Rose by ill begotten gain. He would have her by her own volition though he doubted that she would want him now. But he hoped, he prayed he could woo her. He believed, in his malicious foolishness, that she could grow to love him. That the tenderness she had shown him was not out of a fear but out of love. 

“Thou jests, surely.” The Stranger asked, a sly smile on his lips. 

“I do not.” 

“There shall be no honesty between fair Rose and thee. Thou hast smothered love in its cradle.” The Stranger replied. 

Hux felt the sting of loss in his heart. He felt ready to mourn the love he had so readily defiled yet he did not want to let go of hope. A foolish part of him still believed he could receive the love only Rose could give. 

“She came to me in dreams. She gave me tenderness there.” He insisted, desperate to have the tiny sprout of hope blossom. 

“‘Tis not wakefulness, sir. Thou hath believed a fantasy.” The Stranger crushed the sprout beneath his boot and Hux’s heart with it. 

“What hath befallen me?” Hux wept, fingers tearing at the strands of his hair. A shadow fell over him, a deep consuming darkness pulled at his soul and tempted him into vicious despair. 

_ What devil am I? _

“The cruelty of man.” The Stranger replied with cool indifference. The evil folly of mortals was something he was well acquainted with. No use crying over such trifling things, 

“Devilry. ‘Tis devilry that has made me so.” Hux wailed, rending his clothes like a widow, a mother before the grave of her child. 

“Thy skill is unparalleled.” The Stranger laughed heartily, his mirth like a rebuke.

“I would not injure her otherwise! It is devilry or bewitchment.” Hux insisted. Surely he would not commit such a grave sin any other way. How could so much evil reside in a man who has devoted his life to the divine? 

“Thou hath been bewitched by thine own selfishness. Nothing more.” The Stranger replied with grounding finality. 

His tone brooked no argument and Hux saw the truth before him plain as day. There was malice in his heart, a selfishness that had inspired him to act on fantasy. His own wicked desires were the kindling that lit the flame of his delusions. He had acted upon Rose with more cruelty than was imaginable. 

_ God, why hath I forsaken Thee?  _

“I am my father’s son.” He whispered as images of his father, red faced and angry, flitted past his mind’s eye. It was only a matter of time before he fell into old cruel patterns, a facsimile of the evil that ran through his veins.

“Thy father hath felt no remorse. Take solace in thy guilt.” The Stranger’s replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“‘Tis little comfort.” Hux’s dark companion shrugged at his pathetic declaration. 

“One must take it where one can.” The Stranger replied as he placed a warm hand upon Hux’s shoulder. It was heavy, full of the weight of a millennia of sins and retribution. 

Hux looked up and for a moment he saw the eyes of the creature before him, dark yet full of dancing flames. The fear that had befallen him since his arrival in the wood abated. What more could he fear? What was worse than the enormity of his own transgressions?

“What art thou? Angel or devil?” Hux asked as he looked into the fire in the Stranger’s eyes. 

“Both.” 

Hux looked away from his companion and into the deep richness of the woods around him. Green needles released their sharp scent into the air. Creatures moved carefully as not to alert each other of their travels. Wind rustled through dry leaves and twigs, composing a symphony of earthly sounds. Hux felt calmed by these things, by the beauty and mystery of the natural world. He felt a strength inside him that had evaded him for most of his waking life and he held to it, sure of what he would do next. 

“What must I do? All comes with a price.” He asked the Stranger, voice steady as he accepted his fate. 

“What doth thou desire?” The Stranger asked, tone as sweet as honey.

“To hath never injured Rose.” Hux replied with deadly finality. 

“Not her hand?” The Stranger tilted his head in question.

Hux had, for a brief moment, contemplated acting upon his selfishness. Images of their life together weaved their way through his dark imagination with shocking clarity and his heart called out to it, begging him to make it so. But all the sweetness he had dreamt of was gone. Every happy moment was clouded by his transgression. Her sweetness was tinged with fear and anger, never pure, always rotted to its core.

“I do not want it,” he answered truthfully. “Let her live without injury. Give her the solace I cannot have.” 

The Stranger stood silently for a moment, head tilted in question. 

“This is truly what thou desires?” 

“Aye.” Hux replied with great gravity, his mind settled on his fate. 

The Stranger let out a surprised chuckle, head shaking in disbelief. 

“It is not often I am caught unawares.”

“I surprise thee?” Hux asked earnestly. 

“Greatly.” The Stranger replied as he moved closer to Hux. 

For once, Hux did not shrink back in fear. Fear was not his to have. He was a man who had caused terror, who had caused heartache and pain so unimaginable that it made his soul curl in on itself in heart wrenching grief. He wondered if he would not grieve for his lost soul everyday henceforth. He wondered if he would not wrend his clothes in agony when he thought of how readily he gave into evil temptation. It was what he deserved. This is what evil he had wrought. 

“How so?” He asked, curious as what could surprise the Devil.

“I thought thee more selfish. Thou art thy mother’s son.” The Stranger’s words struck Hux like an arrow, wounding him and healing him with one powerful blow. How could he be like his mother? He was the instrument of her death, the author of her damnation. He was far from the light of her kindness, the glory of her loving heart.

“I am no such man.” Hux replied with finality, his words an epitaph upon his own grave.

“So be it.” The Stranger replied, his tone full of strange pity. 

Slowly he reached inside the pocket of his fine coat and produced a small leather bound book. Hux had heard tell of such an object, of its power to steal men’s souls. He had never imagined that it would be such an innocuous looking thing. There was no gold along the edges, no embossing on the soft black leather, no silk ribbon to mark its page. It was plain, unassuming. In a strange way it suited the moment. There was no fanfare needed to mark the treachery of man. 

“Here, sir.” The Stranger produced a quill as if out of thin air and presented it to Hux. “I bid thee sign my book and all shall be done for thee.”

“I sign thy book and Rose suffers no more injury?” Hux felt the need to clarify, to prevent any deception. It was of little consequence, the Stranger would do as he pleased, but it gave Hux an odd sense of solace to know he had done what he could to ease Rose’s suffering.

“Aye. The memory of what hath past will give her no cause to grieve. But thy soul is mine.” Hux nodded as he placed the nib of the quill upon the page of the book open to him. 

“It was thine long ago.” The Stranger replied with a grin. All Hux could do was nod as he signed his name on the stark white page, ink spreading like a black cloud.

“It was, indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a lot of ground to cover with these notes so I’ll attempt to be as short and sweet as I can be.
> 
> This fic was of course inspired by the Salem witch trials of 1692. For over a year Salem, Massachusetts was embroiled in one of the darker chapters of early American history (pretty much all chapters of American history are dark but I’m sure you get the point.) During this period over 200 people were accused of witchcraft, thirty were found guilty, and nineteen were sentenced to death by hanging. 
> 
> While there is a lot of debate as to why this occurred there is a lot of evidence that this, like their European counterparts, was a result of human cruelty and the fear of the other. The whole of the trials was very complicated and if you're interested I would recommend the first season of the Unobscured podcast. 
> 
> Hux’s childhood tale of accusations is taken from a real trial and execution of accused witch Ursula Kemp. Kemp was a midwife and healer in England during the later half of the 16th century. A woman who she had attended to during her pregnancy accused her of witchcraft and the murder of her child. The woman, who had been reprimanded by Kemp for not paying her bills, accused Kemp of killing her child in revenge through potions, spells and familiars. During her trial Kemp’s eight-year-old son was called as a witness and he confessed to seeing his mother practice witchcraft. She was sentenced to death by hanging.


End file.
